


So-Called Family

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Domestic, Family Reunions, Found Family, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-17
Updated: 2005-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Idaho looked as bleak as Jim had expected -- dry, dusty, and covered in rocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So-Called Family

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [ts_ficathons](http://www.livejournal.com/community/ts_ficathons/) community's "Making a Sense of Cliches" challenge. Thank you to elynross, zoe rayne, and sherrold for doing the beta

Idaho looked as bleak as Jim had expected -- dry, dusty, and covered in rocks. [Craters of the Moon National Monument](http://www.nps.gov/crmo/) was twice as desolate as the rest of the terrain, and if he hadn't promised Blair, he'd have turned the truck around rather than enter the place at all. The only thing green here was the peeling paint on the park benches, and Jim really preferred water and trees.

"Come on, Jim. Relax. Cascade will be fine without us." It was never what Blair _said_ that convinced Jim to do something, it was how he looked. His eyes lit up and his hands waved in the air like he was directing an orchestra that only he could hear. More than that, he just couldn't suppress his delight whenever Jim begrudgingly agreed to do whatever Blair wanted, and an armful of delighted Blair rated right up there on Jim's personal list of very good things.

Which explained why he'd agreed to meet Blair's relatives.

"Though technically, they aren't relatives, at least not by blood," Blair said. "The Tenfold Farm commune was Naomi's...chosen family. Well, okay, some of them were dickwads, but we all got along together pretty well--"

"Fine. I'll go meet your aunts and cousins and whoever." Jim leaned his head back against the couch. "Just make sure there's something for us to do besides the reunion. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to handle your so-called family."

Blair smiled and lightly squeezed Jim's shoulder. "How do you feel about hot springs and casinos?"

They stayed in Arco, about 20 miles from the visitor's center, and drove in. Even at ten in the morning, the asphalt road shimmered in the heat, yet Blair asked him not to turn on the air conditioning. They had the windows rolled down and Santana cranked up, so it was cool enough for the two of them. Outside, there was a slight breeze ruffling the long, dry grasses around them as they made their way across the Snake River Plain to the monument entrance. Some of the grass looked almost green, and some an odd color of purple; together, Jim thought they almost looked almost nice.

From the visitor center -- a bunch of portable buildings on a concrete slab -- handmade signs in a variety of shapes and colors -- many made by kids out of paper plates -- pointed the way to the Tenfold Farm reunion. Jim parked the truck and pulled out the cooler full of fresh fruit. They had a ways to go to get to the reunion site proper, but the map indicated this as the closest parking.

"We can drive out to Napa tomorrow, if you want. We can catch the jet boats down Hell's Canyon from there," Blair said, sliding his arm around Jim's waist. "I know you hate this place. Everyone does. It's all lava flow and not much else."

"Some caves. Lots of bats." Jim could hear them if he thought about it. "So why's the reunion here, anyway?"

Blair shrugged. "The commune was about twenty miles away, up in those hills somewhere--" He pointed while they walked, and Jim thought he could see a few scattered evergreens on the hillside. "They had rain barrels for water, and a well that was so tainted they had to burn the methane off it before they could use it to water crops or give to the animals. This place was a paradise compared to that.."

"Sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me, Sandburg. Practically child abuse."

"Hey, we had indoor plumbing, and the well water worked for that. Cooking and drinking water was all from the rain barrels, so we were fine." Blair waved his hand dismissively. "I was what, four or five? The fact that I couldn't take a bath every day was no big hardship, I tell you."

Jim smiled at the thought of Blair as a child. "So you were growing turnips behind your ears?"

Blair nodded solemnly, but couldn't sustain it; he cracked a grin almost at once. "The place was great. We used books for insulation, which is how I learned to read. They were everywhere, and in winter, we didn't have a lot to do except read. Well, us kids anyway."

They finally made it through to the shelter, and the tables were heaped with food and little signs describing the contents of each dish, from vegan black bean patties to kosher hot dogs and fried chicken, eight kinds of pasta salad, and six kinds of pie -- not to mention a couple of large chocolate cakes. It was the best spread Jim had seen in a while; even Simon's family barbecue couldn't match this.

Jim's own family had never hosted a barbecue or put on a cookout; his dad had had everything catered when the occasion required. Hell of a difference from how Blair grew up. "How many kids were there?" He slid the cooler onto the table and opened it up, pulling out the fresh strawberries, cherries, and watermelon that Blair had cut up back in their hotel.

"Six or seven, when we were there. Jamie," he pointed at a blonde woman in a halter top and jeans, who looked to be in her early thirties, "was the oldest. And Scott," he nodded to one of the guys playing horseshoes, "was the youngest." He nudged Jim with his elbow. "They're gonna love you, Jim. Relax."

Relax. Right. Blair loved asking him to do the impossible. "Bet the bus trip into school was fun."

Blair snorted and waved off Jim's comment. "We home schooled. Margaret had been a Montessori teacher, and she set up a school space for us in the common room. We got a lot of individual attention." He picked up one of the plates sitting on the table and started loading it up. "The chicken should be fine, Pan Shelton hates any kind of raw meat, so it tends to the well-done side. Oh, and Janet English made her potato salad, though you may want to give that a pass. She tends to experiment a lot with spices." He looked over the spread and considered. "I think this is all pretty okay, and if anything smells off to you, you'll let me know, right?"

"Afraid of some bad mayo?"

"Yeah. Aren't you?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Grab me a beer, will ya? Whatever they've got is fine."

"That's good, because they only have one type here." He handed Jim the first longneck out of the ice and kept the second one for himself.

Jim glanced at the bottle. "Miller?"

"It's the official Tenfold Farm beer." Blair twisted off the cap and tossed it into the bucket with the "non-compostable, non-recyclable" note on it. "Naomi says that when we lived here, they couldn't get anything else, and she loves it now. It helps her meditate when she's having trouble finding her center."

Jim twisted the top off and tossed it into the garbage, eagerly downing the first quarter of it in one long, determined swallow. Maybe it was the air, but beer didn't usually taste like this -- crisp as the water in the mountains, light as dandelion fluff. 

Okay, maybe it tasted a little bit like dandelion fluff, too. He took another drink, really focusing on the feel of it in his mouth. Fresh mown grass was in there somewhere. Grass and sun and clover -- maybe pollen. A hint of honey, maybe. He swirled the liquid around in his mouth, letting it drip down his throat, erasing the ache he felt from breathing mouthfuls of dust on their way out here. 

"Whoa, steady guy," Blair laughed, laying his hand on Jim's arm. "It's just a beer." His voice had an edge to it, his tension communicating itself through his touch. 

Jim put his hand over Blair's and gave it a small squeeze. "It tastes pretty good." He re-opened his eyes -- he hadn't really noticed closing them, and saw not only Blair looking at him with concern, but Blair's cousin Jamie, her eyes bright with amusement. 

"The first beer hits me that way, too. Every time I come back to this place, it's like that. It's like the beer knows it was a part of our lives back then." She plopped another piece of chicken on her plate, then headed toward the horseshoe pit. "Still not willing to drink it anyplace else," she called back at them.

"You okay?" Blair obviously thought Jim might have zoned, but in Jim's mind, it wasn't even close.

"Fine. Just surprised, that's all. I didn't expect it to taste so good."

"Funny, that's what Naomi says too. Oh, speaking of Naomi, here." Digging deep into a set of unbleached muslin bags, Blair pulled out a pile of white cloth and shoved a piece into Jim's hands. He looked a little red as he glanced down at his own cloth. "Naomi, ah, got these for us. She said that they were a fundraiser to offset, you know, buying beer and stuff. Said she wanted us to be a part of the family."

Jim unfolded the cloth. It was a T-shirt, with a bunch of stylized tents on it in a rainbow of colors. The back read "Tenfold Farm - Craters of the Moon," with the date just below, while on the front, under the tents, it simply said "Sandburg's Tribe."

Jim smiled as he looked at it. Only Naomi.

"She washed them before she gave them to me, in case there was any sizing in the T-shirts or any sort of residual paint. She said she knows you're sensitive to chemicals and didn't want to take any chances." He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear; it was growing long, and he'd probably cut it soon, though Jim wouldn't mind if he didn't. "Anyway, it's cool if you don't want to--"

"It's fine, Blair. Really." Jim pulled off his Jags hat and threw it on the table, then stripped off the dark blue shirt he was wearing.

Blair's eyes widened, and he laid his hand on Jim's chest, stroking down the bare expanse to his waist. He tucked his fingers into the waistband of Jim's pants, then glanced up, his eyes sparking. "So--"

"Later, okay?" He tried not to sound grumpy, and pulled the new shirt on, smoothing it down in front so that "Sandburg" could be easily seen; he left his hand pressed over Blair's for a long moment, then put his other hand at the back of Blair's neck and kissed him.

Blair tasted like beer and sun and watermelon. Like Aunt someone's chocolate cake and Uncle Hortence's macaroni and cheese, and Mary Beth's tofu salad, but more. Better than the food, better than water, better than air--

Better than beer.

Pulling back slightly, Jim looked down at Blair, his lips still parted and wet from Jim's kiss, and then ran his thumb over Blair's lower lip. Smiling, he nodded once, almost to himself. Now _that_ was the feeling of home.

THE END  



End file.
